


Entangled

by LibraOnFire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brother Feels, M/M, Possessive Sam, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-31 13:17:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8580028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LibraOnFire/pseuds/LibraOnFire
Summary: Dean comes back after an argument with his brother. (Sorry, not great with summaries. It's Wincest though, I promise!)





	

**Author's Note:**

> In this tiny fic, Sam and Dean aren't given any specific age, although I did imagine Sam to be at least 20. Readers are welcome to imagine any other age they prefer though. Also, I feel like whether or not it's completely consensual is up for interpretation. Enjoy, and please let me know what you think.

Dean walks in at four in the morning like nothing happened, face purposefully blank as he tosses his coat over the back of the chair that he falls into to kick off his boots. He's efficient as he removes his socks, empties the contents of his pockets onto the table, barely pausing his routine to spare Sam a cool glance over his shoulder. A soft snore and deep breathing rob him of his composure and he slumps over at last, groaning quietly. He scrubs his face with his hands and slowly stands up. With a more thorough gaze, he sees that Sam is fast asleep, curled up with his back to the empty bed next to the window. Definitely pissed, then.

The ghost of cheap perfume and sex trails him into the dingy bathroom of their motel. Ten very steamy minutes later, he clicks off the light and opens the door. Of course Sam is waiting for him at the end of the bed, elbows on his knees and hands folded patiently between them. 

Sam's always waiting for him. 

Dean stalks over to bed by the window, drags up the olive green canvas bag from beneath it, and starts digging through it. By the time he pulls out a pair of clean black boxers, the weight of Sam's eyes on him has fairly sizzled off any moisture from his skin and he sighs.

“Can't a guy get some privacy around here?” 

“I don't know, Dean,” Sam's voice is barely above a whisper, something quiet and dangerous just underneath it and Dean can't help but turn toward him. He glows almost ethereally in the light of the bedside lamp. “Did you want some privacy when you left earlier?” He stands up and instead of uncoiling, he seems ready to spring. Dean can tell it won't be long before someone loses their composure; Sam's hands are fists at his sides, jaw tight and eyes glinting like narrow flecks of abalone. “Doesn't really seem like you did, judging by the smell of whore that wafted in after you.” 

“Sam, I've told you, we can't keep—”

“Yeah, but that doesn't stop you from crawling into my bed after, does it?” Sam inches closer, somehow taller, his shadow filling the room like the guilt that seeps through Dean, dark and heavy. 

“Please,” Dean croaks, throat dry. 

Electricity seems to crackle off his skin and there's a shock all through him when Sam lunges forward to grab him. They fall onto the bed, breath whooshed out and sucked in all at once, and Dean's sure his heartbeat is visible through the skin of his chest. Sam's spread out all over him, touching him everywhere somehow, and there's no mistaking the intent in Sam's tone when he whispers, “ _Mine._ ” into Dean's ear. 

There are no more words between them, not whole ones, nothing comprehensible to anyone who might be listening. There's a lot of groaning and half-formed whispers, the squeak of weak springs as they communicate in a way only they understand. The headboard taps out Morse code for “More” and “I'm sorry” and “There's no one else”. 

In a race with the rising sun to capture Dean's heart, Sam finishes after and inside of his brother with a relieved groan. They fall asleep the way they live—entangled.


End file.
